


Enemy

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Series: The Sundered Oath [5]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Leaden Key, PoE Inktober, Woedican Watcher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 02:15:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16399481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: When she looks down at him from her throne, there is also a thrill of satisfaction, because here, he is but a messenger, and she the lady of Caed Nua, and he will have to bow to her. It is not that she refuses to recognize the hierarchy of the Leaden Key or the Woedican church. But their relationship is an endless game of ambitions and power, and she is drunk with the mere thought she will see it reversed for a moment.(Or: Sabela decides to test what lines she can cross.)





	Enemy

**Author's Note:**

> (PoE Inktober, prompt 20: Enemy)

It is a rare occurrence, seeing him at Caed Nua. Last time, they met briefly in the Paths – he never said how he got there, and she had enough common sense not to ask, and not to look for that secret entrance. Some mysteries were not worth unravelling.

Now, though, his visit is not a secret – which means he pretends to be someone else, a foreign cipher, returning from her homeland with important news. For those few people who know of her past, that explanation is enough, and those who find it lacking are not entitled to learn anyway.

“ _Maestre_ Erland, with a message from Old Vailia,” the guard captain announces.

Sabela glares daggers at her guest. Of course, he did that on purpose; honestly, she had been trying to guess what alias he would choose. Now she wonders how much of the complicated tangle of emotions boiling inside her he can glimpse.

A brief stab of pain, because it reminds her of the last time she heard him introduced thus, back at home, when he dined with her family. There is amusement, when she recalls the happier memories from that evening; the silly musings of a teenage girl seem ridiculous now.

When she looks down at him from her throne, there is also a _thrill_ of satisfaction, because here, he is but a messenger, and she the lady of Caed Nua, and he will have to bow to her. It is not that she refuses to recognize the hierarchy of the Leaden Key or the Woedican church. But their relationship is an endless game of ambitions and power, and she is _drunk_ with the mere thought she will see it reversed for a moment.

Thaos is looking at her with a polite smile, unperturbed by what he can read in her mind.

“Lady Sabela,” he greets her, with a courtly bow.

Not as low as she would like, but just seeing him bend his head is enough to send a pleasant shiver down her spine.

“ _Maestre_ ,” she replies in a sweet voice, certain he will not miss the gleam in her eyes. “Welcome to my court.”

For a moment, she contemplates approaching him and offering her hand for him to kiss, because for that, he would have to _kneel_ … But that can wait for another visit. She has already learnt that with Thaos, it is better to be careful.

“The guest room at Brighthollow is ready.” Sabela gets up, gesturing towards the door. “You can leave your things and freshen up, if you wish, and we will talk over dinner.”

* * *

 

When they meet for dinner, she does not kiss him, even though they are alone. Neither does she comment on how he looks a bit younger. Perhaps he took her suggestion to use luminous adra to heart. Although, considering how vehemently opposed to that he seemed, it is probably something else. Maybe a gift from Woedica. Or maybe he can somehow draw from _her_ vitality.

Truth be told, Sabela does not really mind. She is willing to sacrifice a few years if that will make him easier on the eyes. Looks are not the most important, but she has some _standards_.

Thaos just shakes his head at her thoughts. “How does so much vanity fit into one person?” he asks, light notes of mockery audible in his voice.

She smiles. “Years of practice. How does someone like you,” she adds, thinking _Woedica’s high priest_ , but that is a title she cannot mention in her keep openly, not yet, “has so little vanity and no pride at all?”

“Years of practice,” Thaos replies evenly, looking into her eyes in a way that makes her smile falter.

“Apologies,” she offers hastily. And – what a surprise – also sincerely. “That was uncalled for.”

He shrugs as if it did not bother him at all. Perhaps it no longer does, not after so many ages. “Enjoy yourself at my expense while you can, _vulpinet_ ,” he permits generously. “It won’t last long.”

She does, and he lets her; they eat and talk about his journey – obviously not from Old Vailia, but he does have some news from there as well – all the while exchanging witty remarks. And Sabela _does_ enjoy it. There are a few scholars in the keep, wizard and chanters, and mercenary ciphers as well, but none of them has a mind as sharp as his. A little _too_ sharp for her, even, but that only makes the challenge better, makes her try harder, reach new heights of brilliance. That would not be possible with anyone else, and she truly appreciates him for it.

She also tries teasing him a little, enjoying the temporary reversal of the hierarchy, but Thaos does not seem affected by that at all, and simply shrugs it off as if it never existed. He does respect her, in a way, and his behaviour is never outright mocking; yet at the same time, his bows are but token gestures. Sabela cannot comprehend how that is possible.

Too late it dawns on her that she left her mind wide open for him to read and, furious, she intends to just get up and turn away and leave without a word. But then his fingers move up her neck and tangle in her hair, and she cannot refuse herself that little treat.

His lips brush the tip of her ear; barely even a kiss, little more than teasing. Suddenly, she is irritated for an entirely different reason.

“The answer you seek is very simple.” Thaos pulls away, smiling briefly. “Unlike you, my ambitious thaynu, I don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

That is true, she realises. No matter what she could trick him into doing, he is and will always be Woedica’s high priest and the Queen’s favoured. While she constantly has to prove herself – against enemies from the past; against other nobles, waiting for her to make a mistake; against fools like Gathbin, who could accidentally tarnish her reputation no matter what solution she chose. Prove herself to Woedica and to Thaos, show him that she is worthy, just as worthy as Eydis Webb had been. Prove to _herself_ that she is smart enough, skilled enough, important enough.

There is great power in detailed knowledge and perfect assurance in one’s abilities, Sabela muses. And that is what she needs, that is what she would like now. Assurance. An affirmation of her power.

So when he courteously walks her to the very door of her room, she reaches out a hand. Not like a lover; like a thaynu, like the lady of Caed Nua, wordlessly demanding respect. Just to see how far she can go, when they are alone.

Thaos watches her closely, and she does not hide her thoughts, merely meets his gaze and waits. After what seems an eternity, he takes her hand in his, bowing over it very slightly before he brings it to his mouth and kisses her fingers.

“So worldly, and yet still so oblivious. Let me tell you a secret, my dear.” A corner of his lips curls up. “Even on your knees, you can still have all the power.” He lets go of her palm. “But that is a lesson for another time.”

Sabela blinks, not quite believing her ears, shocked by his words; she has _thought_ and _imagined_ , yes, but never really _considered_ he would… She blushes furiously.

“Goodnight, _vulpinet_ ,” he says politely, with a knowing smile, and then closes the door.

She wants to open it again, just to slam it into his face. But that would be an inappropriate reaction for a lady and the thaynu of Caed Nua.

Besides, there are more subtle methods she can use for revenge. Like composing another song in Engwithan. If she is to get no sleep, she can at least make sure to repay him with an equally sleepless night in the future. _Very near_ future.

* * *

 

Early in the morning, when she enters the dining room, Thaos is already there. It is clear that unlike her, he had a restful night.

“Lady Sabela,” he greets her with a smile. “I hope you slept well.”

She glares at him – not daggers, this time, more like a two-handed sword. For a moment, she wants to tell him that she was too _busy_ to sleep, but that would be unbecoming of a thaynu. And besides, he would know she was lying.

“Not the best night in my life, but I won’t complain,” she replies icily.

Thaos looks at her. Somehow, he can make one controlled expression convey more than most kith ever could by rolling their eyes, sighing, and maybe pinching the bridge of their noses. “You are going to be like this for the whole day, aren’t you?” he asks calmly.

Sabela shrugs. “Oh, that depends on you.”

His eyes narrow, just a fraction. “You’re aware that I do not respond to blackmail well.”

“How about a… straightforward suggestion?” Begrudgingly, she accepts a cup of freshly-brewed, steaming tea he offers.

“Are you asking whether I’m in the mood for a headache?” Thaos presses his lips together, into a thin line of disapproval.

She smiles, reaching for her lute and gently brushing her fingers across a few strings. The instrument gives a high-pitch sound, perfectly clear, but still verging on unpleasant. “If I wanted to give you a headache, I simply would,” she replies softly, with a honey-sweet smile. There is no need to elaborate; he knows the capabilities of her voice. “Trust me, _Maestre_.”

“That’s rich, coming from a Vailian noble.”

“That’s rich, coming from the most secretive man in the history of Eora,” she retorts, without missing a beat.

His brow furrows… and then his frown smoothes out as he laughs. “An excellent riposte, my dear.”

“Worthy of a master s _words_ man,” Sabela replies, keeping her face blank.

Thaos shakes his head. “Where do you get all those lovely ideas for your wordplays?”

“From my mind.” She smiles, perching on the armrest of his chair. “A lovely place, I’ve been told,” she adds, focusing on a memory of their last night together.

He reaches up, hand tangling in her hair as he pulls her towards him. His kiss tastes of herbs and honey. A weird mix, but she is not going to object.

“A... comfortable place,” he corrects. It does not sound pretty, but he means it as a compliment of sorts; since she is a Woedican, he can be more honest with her. Very simple. Apparently, also very important. “But first things first. We need to speak.” What he does not say is: _somewhere we will not be heard_.

“Breakfast, and then to the library,” Sabela decides. “If it’s something that could have waited for the whole night, it can wait a while longer.”

* * *

 

“Halgot Citadel?” she asks, trailing a fingertip across the cloth.

“No. There’s a place nearby that you won’t find on your map.”

“Engwithan ruins?” Sabela glances at him over her shoulder. “Where?”

“To the south,” he mutters, lips trailing down her neck, mirroring the path she is drawing across the map. “And east,” he adds, after reaching her right shoulder, watching as she moves her finger towards an invisible point in the mountains.

Sabela leans over the map, as if she could see more clearly if she only moved closer. There is nothing there, of course. But she commits all the details to memory, making a mental note to search through old legends and songs later. Many of them are just what they seem – stories. Some, though, contain grains of long-forgotten knowledge, if one knew how and what for to look.

Then she closes her eyes, sighing in contentment as Thaos continues pressing small kisses across her neck and shoulders. One of his arms is curled around her waist, palm resting on her hip, while he keeps brushing his other hand – fingertips, the back of his knuckles – along her spine in random patterns.

She calls this ‘pleasantries’, and only half in jest. It seems gracefulness and sensuality come effortlessly to him, but she knows that he finds this as tedious as small talk, and considers it unnecessarily distracting for her. There is time for caresses, and there is time for business, and while he often has to mix the two, he is reluctant to do so when his plan does not require him to use such methods. Thus, he only indulges her when she does something extraordinarily well.

Sabela idly wonders what could it be, this time. Or perhaps this is about something he wants her to do, a task she does not know about yet.

“Smart girl.” He smiles against her neck. “Care to guess?”

“You need to travel there yourself.” She puts her hand over his. “And I am to take care of things in Dyrwood while you’re gone. Or at least in my part of Dyrwood,” she clarifies.

“Correct.” He rewards her with a brief kiss placed right under her ear. When she moves his palm lower, he pulls away a little, waiting for her to look at him. “Really, Sabela?” he asks, his expression somewhere between mild disapproval and amusement. “Won’t you take pity on this poor map?”

There is a soft thud as the library door closes when she focuses on wishing to be left alone with him, and then a metallic clink of the key being turned in the lock. She cares little for what others will think, and besides, this particular encounter could not ruin her reputation anyway, since everyone assumes that whatever message he has brought from her homeland, it is confidential.

“This is just a scrap of painted fabric. Pretty, but not very valuable.” Some maps are works of art, true, but she uses those as decorations, not for planning and making notes. “I can buy a dozen of these.” She turns around in his embrace and leans against the table. “So yes, really. I didn’t get a wink of sleep all night, and you know it.”

Thaos’ eyebrows arch. “And how is that my fault?” Despite questioning that, his hand slips into her hair.

“You want me to explain in detail?” Sabela asks, tilting her head back.

His reply is a warm exhale against her neck. “No need.” A kiss, right where he can feel the thrum of her pulse, and then he sits in the padded chair, leaning back comfortably. “But let’s show more respect to parchments and books. Unless you have something about modern animancy?”

Way to spoil the mood… Sabela wants to slap him, but that would most probably be just a waste of effort. Besides, she is too distracted by his talented hands to be offended for long. “No,” she replies, burying her fingers in his hair. “But I should have… a Leaden Key report somewhere…”

Thaos laughs, the low sound trembling against her skin. “Don’t trouble yourself, my dear. You can just recite it to me.”

* * *

 

Sometimes, in her more romantic moments – when she is blinded by that fleeting illusion of happiness, as he has kindly explained – as if she needed that! – sometimes she wishes to just forget about everything, and later rest curled in a heap of clothes on a fur rug near a fireplace, disregarding the whole world. But when Thaos caught her thinking that once, he told her – diplomatically enough, but not mincing his words – what he thought about lying on the floor, and advised her that if she really was so inclined, she should wait, find his twenty-year-old incarnation, and ask again. Needless to say, she did not deign to reply.

So instead, she is curled in his lap, wrapped in her somewhat dishevelled gown, congratulating herself on its very practical design. She is sated, warm and overall it is nice enough. A rug would be more spacious than a chair, though, and she needs to stretch her legs. But she feels too lazy to move.

It is different than what it used to be when she sang to him; now he rarely stops himself from showing her what borders she should never cross, from reminding her – with a well-placed patronising word or two – what her place in the Leaden Key’s hierarchy is.

Over time, she has learnt to appreciate even that. Because this – teasing, witty repartees, occasional jests and laughter – this is _hers_. It is not as… poetic, perhaps, as the ballads paint lovemaking. Not as… overwhelming; she cannot make him forget. But that means he is focused, _here and now_ , with no one but _her_ in his eyes and thoughts.

Sabela knows that there were other women – like Eydis Webb – who saw this facet of him; that there will be other women after her. But she does not care. What matters is that right here and now, she has no rivals; she bested everyone and won her prize. Which she is going to keep. And if anyone tried to…

“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Thaos shakes his head, laughing quietly. “Not when you are your own worst enemy, _vulpinet_.”

“Perhaps.” Sabela replies, unconcerned, and straightens to be able to meet his eyes. “But you must have heard the Vailian saying, _Maestre_. Keep your friends close…” She wraps her arms around his neck and flashes him a smile. “But your enemies _closer_.”


End file.
